


monster

by OnyxSphinx



Series: newmann one-shots [118]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, the tnewt geiszler defence squad consists of one (1) mathematician war hero
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:34:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21528412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxSphinx/pseuds/OnyxSphinx
Summary: two times it was the Precursors, and one time it was Newton
Relationships: Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb
Series: newmann one-shots [118]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1286762
Kudos: 38





	monster

**Author's Note:**

> anon asked: "If you're still accepting prompts here's what I've got! I love your stuff! How could Hermann ever fear the precursors when it’s Newton’s soft face dotted with freckles that Hermann had never quite managed to finish counting staring back at him?"

Newton is, to him, a nuisance.

Newton is probably a nuisance to a great many people with how he rushes through life at a dizzying pace and doesn’t listen to _anyone_ even if it turns out badly.

So yes; Newton is a nuisance.

He is, and always has been, a nuisance, but—Hermann will admit, grudgingly, that he’s very fond of Newton.

And now, as Ranger Lambert secures Newton in the cell, his jaw bruised and shirt ripped and bloodied (is it his blood? Hermann fears he knows the answer), he is not a nuisance.

He is Hermann’s entire _world._

And Hermann—Hermann takes a half-step back; inhales sharply; does not know how to process this realisation.

(He’s never really known how to deal with his emotions beyond ignoring them; how the hell is he meant to deal with this—the knowledge that his emotions for Newton are far deeper than mere friendship— _have_ been far deeper than that for almost two decades?)

Pentecost, by his side, catches sight of his expression. “Though, huh?” he says, surprisingly soft. “I know you guys were close back in the day—it must be hard to see him become a monster.”

“He’s _not._ ” 

The words sting as he spits them out; harsher than intended, and Pentecost’s eyes widen. “He’s not,” Hermann says; again, more heavily.

“He killed—“

“ _Newton,_ ” he says; softly, “is not responsible for the crimes committed by the Precursors, Ranger. This is not something on which I will consider opposing points of view.”

The door opens, and Lambert joins them. “He’s starting to wake up,” he says.

Pentecost nods. “Right,” he says, “Gottlieb—do _not_ try and see him.”

Hermann works his jaw. “Fine,” he says, finally, “I’ll adhere to your request—for now.”

* * *

He gets in; eventually. There’s only so much paperwork and pestering they can take, Hermann figures.

As usual, he’s right.

The door slides open silently, and Hermann enters; the hair on his arms and the nape off his neck rising at the sudden drop in temperature.

They raise his head; blink eyes that seem almost to glow electric blue. “Gottlieb. _Hello._ ”

Hermann swallows; takes in his form.

They’ve changed him out of his suit; not he wears a thick white shirt and a pair of sweatpants. The hair though—it’s messy; unkempt, and the sight brings back a flood of nostalgia.

“Precursors,” he says, “I’m not here for you.”

“Oh, right, you think you can save him,” they sneer. “Well newsflash—he’s gone. Or—well, he’s become us. We’re him, Gottlieb—all that’s left. Accept it.” 

“Newton,” he says, ignoring their words; steps closer. “Newton— _Newt,_ please hear me—none of this is your fault. I will find a way to get you back—“

The Precursors lunge forward’s; suddenly, stop, quivering, teeth a mere hairbreadth from Hermann’s throat; bared. “Scream,” they snarl, lips pulled back. “Be _afraid,_ Gottlieb.”

“I cannot,” he says; jaw set. “I will not.”

How could Hermann ever fear the Precursors when it’s Newton’s soft face dotted with freckles that Hermann never quite managed to finish counting staring back at him?

(How could Hermann fear the Precursors when he fears, far more, the dawning dread that he’s failed Newton for the past decade?

How can he fear them when all he can think is that they’re so cowardly they twisted and manipulated and crushed the soul of Newton Geiszler in an attempt to conquer Earth? How can he fear them when he knows that Newton—brave, brave Newton—is still there; still fighting?)

* * *

This time, they’ve moved him to a larger cell—in part good behaviour and in part Hermann pulling every string he thought corps aids him.

They’re still there; shifting, restless, behind Newton’s eyes; baring his teeth when Hermann walks in.

He doesn’t greet them this time; ignores their frustrated hiss of breath and instead walks towards Newton.

“I brought some photographs,” he says; quietly. “If—when— _if_ you want to look at them...of you and I. Together—“

He stumbles back; cane slipping from his grip; back hitting the wall, head aching, and it's a moment before he realises that he'd gotten too close and they'd slammed Newton's head against his; watch him with a sharp smile as his teeth clench with pain.

The photo album's fallen to the floor; splaying photos out on the ground. Hermann takes a moment; breathes.

Begins to gather up the fallen photos.

"Fuck off," the Precursors growl.

"I'll be back in a week," Hermann says; instead; softly.

* * *

This time, the other doesn't look at him when he enters. "Newton," Hermann greets; because he knows that the biologist is there; deserves to know that Hermann is here for him. "I, ah," he stops. "I missed you," he admits, finally. "I've _missed_ you, Newton."

Silence; expected, and yet, still, the tide of disappointment rises high, and higher; wets the insides of his mind and leaves behind the bitter aftertaste of sea-salt.; Hermann licks his lips. Perhaps today is a day of silence.

(They usually are; he knows that. But he wishes he didn't; wishes he didn't and in part wishes that he could stop hoping because what is hope doing but tearing his heart apart with sharp claws?)

He turns—

There's the smallest sound; barely the whisper of a whisper, but in the silence of the room, it echoes like a gunshot.

Hermann turns slowly; barely daring to believe it.

Newton's face, exhaustion etched into the lines around his eyes, s—tares back. " _Newton,_ " he breathes.

"...hey," Newton croaks, and then—

And then Hermann's across the room, and he's cupping Newton's face in his hands, and he's crying, _he's_ crying, his tears hot on his cheeks and his tears hot on Hermann's skin, and he leans forward, leans into Hermann as much as he can and Hermann swallows; the emotion thick in his throat.

"I m—missed you, too," Newton chokes out; shudderingly, the words half-muffled, and tears track down, spilling forth and down and down and _down_ his cheeks, down and down and _down his,_ and yet, all there is is _joy;_ stark and all-consuming and he grins, and _he_ grins back.

"Newton," Hermann says; again, and this time, Newton answers.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me at [autisticharrow](https://autisticharrow.tumblr.com/) on tumblr


End file.
